Absolution
by Lazarus Risen
Summary: Not much these days mattered to him anymore. Most of his time was spent wandering, just wandering, searching for something. What that something was, though, he hadn’t the faintest idea. Adam/Peter; spoilers for season 2.


**WARNING: **Sexual content.

--

There was no other sound, except the erratic beating of his heart.

Darkness, everywhere -- it was a painfully familiar thing to him. Too familiar, in fact… his throat closed as the claustrophobia set in, the feeling of panic, like he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't feel.

Adam swallowed and took another step, groping across the wall for the light switch. His head was swimming, stomach down to his knees, _have to turn the light on can't be in the dark can't be in the dark can't be in the dark_ --

He found the switch, and flipped it up. The room was bathed in a warm, glowing light, and Adam breathed a sigh of relief.

It had been three months since he had escaped from the graveyard. The details were still murky -- he couldn't remember who had gotten him out, or why they had left -- but it mattered little now. Not much these days mattered to him anymore. Most of his time was spent wandering, just wandering, searching for something. What that something was, though, he hadn't the faintest idea.

He didn't even know what city he was in now, actually. He had been traveling so much lately that all of the lights and the buildings had sort of merged together into one big, colossal _thing_. He could be anywhere. New York City, Tokyo, Amsterdam. It was all the same to him.

Adam ran a hand down his face, his eyelids heavy and drooping. A glance at the clock; nine in the morning. Something caffeinated might be a good idea. It wouldn't affect him for long, of course, but even a temporary fix would be sufficient enough to plod through the next hour or so.

He grabbed the jacket that was slung over a chair and left the hotel room, the door clicking shut quietly behind him.

--

The hustle and the bustle, the shoving of human bodies against each other, sweat dripping from necks, cell phones and briefcases and headphones and everyone ignoring each other, rushingrushingrushing. Adam felt himself get lost in them, the large crowds, the suits and the hipsters and the construction workers and the confused tourists. He felt an intense hatred and love for them, simultaneously somehow. He felt hatred for their selfishness, their utter lack of concern for the world around them, their pointless fixations on their petty problems that bore no significance in the grand scheme of things. But he loved them, too; loved them because he knew that, in the end, he was no better than they were.

A year spent underground was bound to make one change their perspective on things, even if it was only slightly.

--

He had been wandering around the city for hours. The clock tower told him it was six o'clock in the evening. Adam turned the corner, unwilling to go back to the hotel just yet. But what to do…

A bar; wonderful. Adam stepped inside, the stench of alcohol pervading his nostrils, curling up and making its home there.

He sat gingerly on one of the bar stools and ordered a drink. He glanced around at the bar patrons, his eyes lazily sliding from person to person, when finally his gaze landed on someone… unexpected.

Peter didn't appear to have noticed him enter; he was bent awkwardly over his table, cradling a whiskey glass in his hands. His head swung lazily from side to side, his eyes unfocused, and he was muttering nonsense under his breath.

Adam's breath caught, and he pondered his next move. Should he make a quick escape before he was discovered, or should he sit down across from Peter, as though the whole virus escapade had never happened? He wasn't sure how much Peter knew about him and what his true intentions had been. Perhaps he still knew nothing of it. However, if he _did_ know… well, things were likely to get ugly, fast.

Then again, the man was obviously pissed out of his senses and probably would not remember this exchange tomorrow.

Adam let loose the top button on his shirt and strolled casually over to Peter's table.

"Hello, Peter," he said softly, his hand resting lightly on the tabletop.

Peter looked up at him, his eyebrows scrunched up and his eyes half-closed. He raised a finger and pointed it at him. "You're Adam," he said, his words slurring.

"Indeed I am, yes." A small smirk curled up his cheek. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Always… always with the gentleman-ness," Peter muttered, and Adam took that to be a yes and sat in the seat across from him.

"Do you remember me, Peter?" he asked, lacing his fingers together.

Peter let out a low, guttural laugh. "Oh yeah, I remember you," he said, chuckling. He wiped his mouth and pointed his finger at Adam again. "You, you wanted to destroy the whole world, din't you?"

"Yes," he said calmly.

"Thought you were my friend," Peter mumbled, lowering his finger and looking furtively around him, as though expecting someone to pop up out of the shadows. "My only friend. But you weren't. Using me, you were using me, the whole time."

Adam had no response for this, so he stayed silent.

"None of it meant anything to you, huh?" He looked back at him. "Any of it. Meant nothing."

He said nothing.

"Thought so," Peter chortled, and snapped his fingers. "Excuse me! I would like some more whiskey, ifyouplease, waitress or waiter."

Adam looked around; there were no waiters or waitresses in the vicinity. "I'll get it, Peter," he said, and went back to the bar where his ordered drink had just arrived.

"I hope you like scotch," he said as he placed the drink in front of Peter; apparently he did, as he swung down half of it in one gulp.

"What do you want, anyway," Peter said, licking lingering traces of alcohol from his lips. Adam stared appreciatively.

"I want to make amends," he said quietly, leaning in closer, eyes locked on Peter's. "I've done some terrible things, Peter. I feel… sorry for it. Genuinely sorry." Not entirely true, but there was no time for truth.

"Oh, no! I'm not falling for _that_ trick again." Peter waved his hand about wildly, then slammed it on the table. "Bad enough the first time! Weren't for you, Nathan wouldn't be…" He seemed to choke on his own words, and he swung down another gulp of scotch, his head tilted back and the tendons on his neck stretching.

Adam cast his gaze downward and swallowed.

"Alone, all alone, and I've only just noticed it," Peter proclaimed, placing his empty glass back on the table. "Alone, and always will be."

Adam looked up sharply. "And you think I don't know that best of all?" he snapped. "Better than you can even imagine? I've lived for _four hundred years_. People don't tend to stick around for very long when you're immortal, you know. I… I've been alone my entire life." His voice broke slightly, and he looked away, embarrassed.

Peter stared at him.

Adam wrung his hands, attention fixed on a quote on the wall: _"An eye for an eye"_. Strange quote to have on display in a bar, he thought to himself.

"You're… you're being sincere, huh?" Peter finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Adam nodded, still staring at the quote.

"What're you looking at?"

He blinked and turned his head back to Peter. "Not much. Just my entire existence summed up in five words." _As long as I have breath, anything you love I will lay to waste…_ What a pointless goal to have for nearly four hundred years. What was Hiro Nakamura to him? Just a man. Just a ridiculous, foolish man. Wherever he was, Hiro Nakamura was probably suffering, probably consumed with guilt with what he'd done. And Adam was finished with him.

"We're both alone, you see?" Adam said. "I have no one, and you have lost someone dear to you."

Peter traced his finger against the glass.

Adam stroked Peter's hand lightly, feeling a thrill shoot through his nerves. Peter stiffened, but didn't move his hand.

"I'm sorry for how things turned out," Adam murmured soothingly. "But perhaps it can all be mended."

Peter didn't respond, just stared vacantly into space.

Adam bit his lip, then reached into his pocket. "Here." He slid a piece of paper on which he had already his name and number. "This is the phone number for my hotel room. Call me if you're interested."

He stood up and briskly walked out of the bar, not looking behind him.

--

It wasn't until ten o'clock at night the next day when Adam finally heard a knock on his door.

He felt the cool metal against his skin as he opened the door and saw Peter standing in front of him, a determined and resolute expression on his face.

"I'll never forgive you," Peter said, then kissed him.

Adam smirked against Peter's lips, then pulled him inside by his shirt collar and kicked the door closed.

Their mouths moved in synchronization, hands placed around slender necks, smooth and rough at the same time. They fell onto the bed, hands wandering and pulling and tugging, lips grazing along collarbones and moans being whispered conspiratorially into ears. Peter thrust himself against Adam, who groaned at the feeling of Peter's erection against him.

They were one, sooner rather than later, and underneath the panting, and the louder moans, there was a feeling of something different, something much more significant than what was actually happening. There was a connection there, something that hadn't been there before, that might be the result of the things they had seen and the ways they had changed since the last time they had done this (had it really been over a year now?). There was a sense of… _completeness_ in it all.

When it was all over, they fell back onto the sheets, breathing heavily and staring up at the ceiling.

Peter was about to turn off the light, but Adam grabbed his arm before he could. "I'm not too fond of the dark, Peter," he explained patiently.

Peter nodded, and wrenched his arm free. "Adam…"

"Yes?"

"What… what is this? What are we doing?"

"I believe we just had sex, unless I have been misled all of these years."

"I'm serious." Peter looked over at him, worry etched into his brown eyes. "What are we doing?"

Adam didn't answer for several moments. "I don't know," he finally said.

"Okay." Peter looked back up at the ceiling.

They lay side by side for what seemed like hours, maybe even eternity. Peter laid his hand on Adam's, and their fingers intertwined almost automatically.

"I want it again," Peter said.

"Want what again?"

"Whatever just happened between us."

They came together again, sliding and wet, just to feel that strange feeling again, and continued on into the night, only taking brief rests in between, unwilling to let go of the connection, _needing_ to feel it over and over.

Maybe he was not so alone as he had imagined, Adam thought, even though he knew this not to be true, and knew that Peter would leave him as soon as he could, just like all of the others.

Still, for now, it was enough.


End file.
